


Rise of the Walker

by chrisemrys



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Allen's backstory, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family, Feels, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No heavily graphic violence or abuse, Non-Graphic Violence, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:18:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisemrys/pseuds/chrisemrys
Summary: From an orphenage to the streets. From a circus to the roads. No name, Red, Allen. This is the tale, from the baby to the Exorcist, of Allen Walker.(This is my version of Allen's backstory, which will be canon au, and all canonverses stories I have written or will write use this backstory as Allen's one!)





	1. Prologue

Welcome!

This story will be Allen's life before the Order, from a baby to being send to the Order. Note that this backstory applies to all canonverse stories I write as Rise of the Walker has been written to work with any canonverse universe.

There is another AN at the end of the prologue, which I placed there not to spoil the content of the Prologue!  
Warnings will be put in notes before the chapter when any is needed; obviously there won't be ships, but violence and abuse will be part of this story. And feels.

This prologue is short, as it serves as an intro, and so I hope to write chapter 1 in the next few days. After that, we will see how often I can update this, though I do feel I'd want to work on this often. But since this is my canon backstory for Allen, I don't want to rush it, either.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

**Rise of the Walker**

_ Prologue _

The middle of the night, in the small village, witnessed a form in a hooded coat moving with arms wrapped around a bundle kept close to the chest. Lips were thin and jaws clenched as faint warmth emitted from the small form, but gratefully, the lack of hostility and the dormant energy made the warmth lessen, reassured there was no danger.

Finally, the form stopped at the door of a small house. Nipping lips, eyes were dropped to the bundle, and one arm was adjusted to free the other, revealing the baby's face. One finger came to brush the baby's cheek, who just nuzzled into it.

Lips formed a smile, though some sadness showed.

“I swear to you, one day I'll awaken fully, and I'll remember you for who you are.” Smile faltered, eyes flickering the covered left arm. A shaky breath was let out, and a kiss was pressed to the baby's forehead. “Please survive, always survive. Never stop walking.”

Then the form knelt, and gently deposited the bundle of covers with the baby inside on the doorstep. A letter was deposited on the baby's chest, and the form straightened up. Brown eyes with a hint of amber stared down at the baby for a few more seconds, swallowing.

Oh, how they wished they did not have to do this. But already, they could feel their self slowly burying. Soon they would truly be as dormant as they were supposed to be, the shadow of memories they were supposed to be.

So with another shaky breath, they knocked on the door, and when they heard steps coming, they went to hide, still able to view the small house.

An ederly woman opened the door, confused before her gaze dropped and eyes widened. They saw more than heard the small gasp, and the old lady bent down to take the bundled baby in her arms, adjusting so she could open the letter and read it with one hand.

They recalled each words written in it, and could almost see it as she read each of them.

_Dear lady,_

_I am sorry to ask this of you, but I cannot take care of this little one. I fear he would not be safe if he were to stay with me, and I cannot allow that._

_I also have to admit to you: this is your grandson. I know you know he should be much older, but if you have been in touch with your daughter-and I know you are-then you know she and him has dealt with things outside of the usual understanding._

_Just wait until he opens his eyes, and you know I tell the truth. And when you do, please burn this note, and never speak to anyone of who he is. He is just a baby you found. I sadly have to warn you to not even contact your daughter about him. It would be just as dangerous for her than for him and you._

_I do not believe we will see each other again, but I will pray that you and him stay safe and happy. Have faith that he will one day know what to do._

_Farewell_

The woman's eyes were shining with unshed tears, crumpling the paper as she gazed down at the baby again. She did not need to see his eyes to know. She had not even needed the note. She had only seen him as a child a few times, and he might not be related by blood, but she would recognize anywhere the soothing feeling that seemed to come from him.

“Hello, little Allen.” She smiled, feeling her chest swelling with fondness as the baby woke up, bright silver eyes looking up at her. “You are safe now, little one.”

She entered her house again, closing the door, and the form in the shadow breathed a sigh of relief, smiling before they left with a stranger mix of feeling lighter, and then heavy with sadness. But no, they knew it was for the best.

They knew she would not care about the left arm, and that she would love him.

She had already noticed the red arm, and all she felt was worry for how it happened, but he looked healthy and he giggled at her, and she believed all would be fine.

Neither the mysterious person nor her could have planned this one fact.

She would pass away five years later.

_To be continued…_

 

Note: I think my hints are enough to make a safe guess of who is the mysterious person that left Allen to his grandmother, or at least, which group they are a part of. I know who it is exactly, but except confirming the person if you guess correctly, I won't say much more. This is a big part because while I don't think I'll ever need to change who it is (unless someone else work better for a specific canonverse), generally the how and why will show. In this story, how Allen deaged and how this person plays into all is not of importance, all that matters is that he did deage, and that a certain someone of a certain group was the one who made sure he was fostered.

Note: There is one detail that might not always apply , which is that the old lady is Allen's grandmother. The one thing that remains canon all the time is that a certain someone gave baby Allen to an old lady, and this old lady took care of him for five years or so before passing away.


	2. Goodbye

Hello!

Here we have the first chapter, which is still on the short side (or short for me at least), a sort of second introduction, as the story really starts once he is in the orphenage. I have chosen not to write anything from his first five years, to leave it open.  
Also, in case the question floated your mind, you will see through the story how Allen can be named Allen right now and later have no name. Also: orphenage has a familiar name, it might or might not be some foreshadowing, and it will become clear after roughly two or three chapters (estimation based on what I can see myself put in each chapter).

Warning: This chapter, as foreshadowed by the end of the prologue, deals with character death. It is not described, though implied to be a sickness, and not much focus is put on it. That being said, feels are very feelsy. However, the focus is also on the discussion of Allen being sent to the orphenage, rather that why he is.

On another note, thank you to AtropaDesideria for asking two certain questions, as there is now a chapter written that will place later in the story that reply to these questions, and it was very helpful to me as it strenghtened the worldbuilding I have.  
So really, if you have more questions, and this apply to anyone, ask away! Worst case is that I'll say I can't reply and tell you when/where the actual reply can show, best case is I can reply, and middle case is that it's something I can place in and/or didn't think about before.

Lastly, while I do have an idea on what the next chapter will have, I cannot say if it will come as quick as this chapter, or if it will take more time. I am also debating if I want to focus solely on this story for a bit, or just have it a main one I work on.

Anway, enjoy~

* * *

 

**Rise of the Walker**

_ Chapter 1: Goodbye _

Two knocks sounded from the front door, making the small body tense for a second. Silver eyes sought the gaze that made him feel safe, and he found it alongside a soothing smile.

“Dear, can you..?” The aged lady started to ask, coughing.

A little hand tightened lightly its grip, then slowly let go as the young red haired nodded. Then he moved to the door, frowning up before leaning up and extending his right hand, left one hanging at his side, and he twisted the key open, before grabbing the handle and opening the door.

A middle aged woman blinked as the door opened seemingly on its own, then with a vague rememberance of why she had been called, her gaze dropped and a soft smile formed at the sight of the red haired child staring up at her with wide silver eyes, body half hidden behind the door.

However, before she could speak, he just opened the door more, offering a shy smile, before dashing back inside.

The woman blinked, then breathed out a small laugh. She walked in, closing the door behind her, and an aged voice called they were. The little house was easy to navigate in, a large living room with the kitchen furnitures, and one room.

The woman's heart broke slightly at the sight, once she entered said room. She had known, of course, what to expect. The aged woman laying in bed had written to their orphenage when she realized her health would not improve.

Still, the sight of the child holding his caretaker's hand tighly with one, silver eyes dulled in worry that soon lifted to the newcomer, lost and with the faintest questionning hope; it forced the woman to take a deep breath and force a faint smile on her face.

Somehow, in the way the child returned his gaze on the aged woman, brightness gone, she felt like she failed in covering the impeding sad truth he would have to face. Still, she walked closer, however did not speak right away as she noticed the old lady give a weak, but warm, smile to the child, moving her free hand to pat his head.

Then, smile still in place, she introduced herself, the older lady doing the same before ruffing red hairs, both women chuckling lightly at the small squeak.

“And this one is Allen.” The aged woman added, coughing a bit. Allen immediately reacted, letting go of the hand in his right one to be able to brush the woman's forehead in a calming gesture. It seemed to help, and she smiled. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

The boy, for the first time, smiled. The woman could not prevent a soft coo, heart skipping a beat. _This one is going to be a menace, he is so cute!_

The older woman send a knowing look, before it dimmed lightly. “Allen is five years old, give or take a few weeks. However, he is a quiet little one.” She smiled toward the little boy, as if reassuring she was not criticizing. “He won't speak unless necessary.”

Confusion flickered in the woman's eyes, repeating, “Give or take..?”

The aged lady nodded. “I found him when he was a newborn.”

That earned a compassionate look, that still didn't seem the way the boy glanced down, betraying that he had not trouble understand speech. And once more, she noticed that he kept his left hand hanging, lightly hidden in his laps as he sat on the bedside.

She did not miss how the young boy tensed, silver eyes on her again, but wary. She lifted her gaze to the older woman, almost squirming under the intense look.

“He seemed to have been born with a rare deformity to his arm, thankfully, it doesn't seem to pain him or to progress; but it does seem paralyzed after the elbow.” She paused, then, softer, “Show her, Allen.”

The boy hesitated, then he moved his left arm. The woman gasped, eyes widening and body flinching at the sight of the red skin, of the green cross that seemed carved into the back of his hand. Immediately, the boy hid his hand again, turning his head the other way, staring at the wall as his right hand came to clutch the aged woman's hand once more.

The woman snapped her gaze to the older one-and cowed under the stare that seemed even more intense. The smile, wry, did not help the sensation of being judged. “People around here haven't been very open to the reminder his deformity is not contagious, to not comment on more absurd claim. Surely, you can understand?”

No old lady lying on their death bed should be able to have such a cold look.

The woman swallowed. Then, she breathed out a laugh, inclining her head. “As the head of the Walker orphenage, I'm pleased to welcome him.”

“Are you leaving, Nanny?” A young, soft-spoken voice sounded.

The woman startled, dropping her gaze to Allen. But the boy only had eyes for the aged woman, silver eyes shining a little bit. It was too easy to forget the strange arm, when you could not see it. When he looked so innocent.

“Oh, little Allen...” Despite the weakness her body must have, she still moved to sit, opening her arms in a silent wish for him to hug her, which he did. “I told you, didn't I? This few days have been warning me my call to heaven is coming.”

The boy sniffled, then in a quiet yet determined voice, he whispered, “But I am staying here until you have to go.”

Neither women could argue with that, and both knew he would not have taken a no anyway.

This night, as if all that had kept her was to know Allen would be taken care of, his nanny closed her eyes, and did not open them again.

In the morning, he stared at her with tears down his cheeks, trying one last time to call her. Then he kissed her forehead, wishing her a good journey, and finally looked at the woman, voicing that he was ready for his own journey.

They were the last words he ever spoke until his arrival at the orphenage, and for days onward.

_To be continued..._


	3. Entering the new life

Hello!

Here is next chapter finally~ I got a little busy and only had time to progress slowly, but I'm happy to get this out relatively fast.

I would say we now enter the story fully, and unlike before, we finally shift to Allen's POV. It is fun to do, as you will see, it will explain how years later, he says he does not recall anything before the circus. A note at the end makes it clear, too.

The chapter has soft feels, I am sure your heart will hurt to hug Allen, but not hurt too badly. I think. And this chapter finally a bit longer, wordcount around 2000 words and that's my average (or at least my personal “yes this is my usual wordcount for a chapter”).

Enjoy!

* * *

 

**Rise of the Walker**

_ Chapter 2: Entering the new life _

Silver eyes watched outside the window of the train, the movement of them showing the young boy did take the sight, but rarely did he react. He could feel the eyes of the lady that was not his nanny, but he paid no mind.

Safe and warm, that was what he had felt until today. A small house that had been familiar by instinct, living day after day in it. His nanny, always there. The town outside, maybe a little less familiar, but people, some people, very familiar, in the feeling of not wanting to be close to them. Words he did not always understand, but made his heart constrict. Always hiding his left hand, even if he knew, that they knew.

His name, known by the feeling of possession when nanny would call it.

But now, all those familiar sights, those feelings, they would serve nothing. He understood, that his nanny had no choice, just like he understood, he was alone now. This new adult, he could not call her nanny. She did not feel like nanny.

He knew, that anywhere he would go, he could grow to find familiar places, people, sights and feelings.

Just like he knew previous ones would lessen. Had it not happened, before, after all? He did not remember when, but he remembered the feeling, confusion before the realization he just could not recall someone, a temporary part of the town.

Feelings stayed. Everything else, it felt too much. His nanny, he remembered the feeling, her worry, when she realized he spoke of feelings rather than memories.

He wondered, how it would be then, in this new place. He would have to learn, quickly, because…

Because he did not have anyone to protect him, did he?

A feeling of sadness tightened his chest-and then soft warmth loosened it. He blinked, then as always, he did not question it more.

Besides, the woman was speaking to him, the train would soon arrive. So he turned his gaze to this new caretaker, trying to imprint again her appearance, but most importantly, the feeling she gave. He could not trust memories, they barely worked.

But feelings, he could trust them.

* * *

 

His gaze took into the large gates, the area behind them and the middle, head tilted slightly as he felt the mix of faint warmth and something a little less warm. But he could not feel anything bad, and it told him that, maybe, with time, this place could be home too.

More adults, and more children, were inside, curious, some welcoming. He smiled lightly at the adults, even as he kept his body close to the woman his nanny trusted enough. If he was hiding his left side behind the woman's legs, only she would realize why.

He knew they were talking about him, he heard his name, though it took him a few seconds to really realize it had been his name, now that it lacked the warmth his nanny used.

His attention snapped fully to them as he felt the change, the fear and disgust. Silver eyes widened a bit as he stared up at them, and then he blinked as the woman stepped a bit more in front of him, shielding him.

Her tone was tense, scolding, she spoke of a promise and of how he was a child.

His heart constricted, for her feelings, they did not lie.

She felt the same as them. Only a sense of what his mind was able to call honour, and a sense of respect for his nanny, lead her to keep him.

His frame shook, something twisting in his heart. Had his nanny thought it was her duty to take care of him? She had been so warm…

But memories, he had no memories. He trusted his feelings, that his nanny had been warmer than the people here.

Yet, how could he know if his nanny hadn't learned to mask colder feelings before he even started to pay attention to them, masking the same way the woman was doing more and more now as she noticed his trembling?

How could he know his nanny's good heart, caring nature, had not masked anything else, the same way the woman now felt warm, just like her hands gently touching his cheeks and calling his name in trace of compassion, brushing his tears away?

He felt himself fall, or did he simply leant into the warmth the woman offered? He was in her arms now, she had picked him up, voice taking a soothing feeling, genuine enough to stop the tightness of his chest, but not enough to lessen it.

The loneliness hit him, the knowledge that no one truly had any genuine warmth to offer, that he was on his own, and he heard the sobs coming out of his own mouth.

Feelings, he knew he could trust them. But the only person that had been there before they were trustworthy, how could he trust anymore that it had been genuine?

The woman spoke to herself, of shock hitting, but he knew better.

Everything. It was everything. Loss, wariness, loneliess…

It was all too much.

* * *

 

The young boy sat at the windowsill, looking out with eyes that held some curiosity, yet that were neutral, not quite void of emotions, but no true light shining either.

A sensation of uneasiness made his eyes leave the window to glance at the door. He blinked at the woman, then his eyes filled a bit more with the curiosity, a little brighter with the shy sotfness he had displayed, a few days ago, when his home was not this place.

“Don't you want to go outside, Allen?”

He blinked, tilting his head. That was his name, wasn't it? His eyes travelled back to the view of outside, blinking again. His chest hurt, it felt as if something lacked. His name should be warmer, but in her voice, in everyone's voice, it was as blank as other words.

He heard a sigh, and the woman left. Yet, later, she would find the room empty, and after a small search, she would find him sitting high in a tree.

The little boy had almost dropped when he heard the sudden call, a snap of his name, something scolding. He went down without trouble, and sat against the bark of the tree, hanging his down at the words of warning, how dangerous it was, that he should not do so.

He simply gazed up at her, offering a faint smile, and she deemed he understood, leaving him alone.

A true smile formed for a fleeting moment, before he closed his eyes and his expression smoothed to simply relaxed.

She could not understand. The wind brushing his face, when feeling of the branch and the tree, the calmness up there…

If she did not want to see him up there, then he would just make sure she didn't see. But no one, no one, would prevent him from seeking this feeling of warmth that not even his nanny had given him. He did not care if sadness seemed to flicker also, because the longing was one he felt he wanted.

Such a strange feeling, but one he wanted with an intensity that helped smoothe away all the feelings floating around him.

He wanted the melody of the wind that soothed his mind, that induced the faintest warmth in his body, making even his left arm feel normal.

* * *

 

Days passed, and while he found himself outdoors more often now, it was always on his own, in the company of the trees around the orhpenage. Children, around his age, older, rarely younger, approached him at first; but his voice would barely come for the adults, and the lack of proper reply seemed to push away the other children.

He felt that their sadness helped a little bit the loneliness, a sign that he was maybe wanted, but something in him did not want the company. Or maybe, it feared it, feared losing it. After all, he knew why the adults always made sure he had bandages on his left arm and hand, claiming it had been hurt and needed it.

He could sense how the disgust lessened when they didn't have to see it, and he knew that they did not want to scare the other children.

The adults made it clear in their feelings, that he was the stranger in their home, safe only because he did not cause trouble.

And his arm alone, it was trouble enough already. So he should not show it.

If he took faint pleasure in the frustration at his quietness, annoyance the few times he was caught up in trees, it was his little secret.

It seemed to make him a little popular among the children though, or at least some of them. Maybe curious was a better term, he mused, as he felt the feeling as some approached. A hand touched his red hairs, and his body startled, eyes snapping to the culprit with wider eyes, frame leaning back.

“Wow, you have really soft hairs!” The child commented, smiling even as he felt the faint nervousness from them.

He blinked, touching his hairs with his right hand, as if noticing the fact himself. Another of the children giggled, and he narrowed his eyes, feeling slight heat on his cheek. It made all of the children smile, and it confused him.

Why were they happy? His chest warmed a bit. Were they content of his expression..?

“Don't you want to play with us?”

And here it came, the usual question. Were they just trying to make him more open? But their feelings… They were genuine. He felt hope bubbled slightly in them when they noticed he was hesitating, and he spotted right away the most observant of them, for their eyes followed right away the movement of his left arm that he unconsciously moved closer.

“Does it hurt? Your arm? Is it why you don't play?”

Now that made all the children focus on said arm, and he squirmed a bit, hiding it a bit with his right arm, both crossed loosely on his laps. Yet, it seemed to be enough, because he watched those eyes lit up in understanding. Then the sensation turned to curiosity.

“How do you climb those trees, then? You're always finding such nice spots!”

He felt his chest swell in warmth, not just from the honest curiosity, not just for how it seemed they were all taking in stride his lack of verbal replies, but also that they did not press more about his arm.

For the first time in a while, he smiled. It was soft and warm, mischief lighting his silver eyes. He paid no mind to the faint blush on some faces and the sensation of wonder, instead he stood up, smiling a bit wider before he showed them.

It was as if his body had always known how to climb trees, using his feet to propel him up in addition to his right hand, left arm used to hook around branches. He was soon sitting somewhere in the middle of the trees, gazing down with a shyer smile that turned brighter as he heard the cheers of the other children.

Then he heard an angry voice, and his expression fell. He could feel the guilt of the other kids, but his attention shifted to the woman, and he climbed back down, unwilling to make the deep annoyance rolls off her more.

“How many time have I told you not to do this? And here I find you showing off, you troublesome boy! Go to your room, and don't come out until dinner. Maybe that will teach you to listen.”

He felt his heart drop. She knew he had grown to love being outside. She felt smug, all too pleased that she knew her punishement to hurt him. She paid no attention to the other children trying to tell her they asked him, that she claimed he should not have done so. She was using him as an example.

He felt anger bubble in his chest. She did not care how he felt, only that he was convenient. She didn't care whether or not he was safe, she just wanted him to remain put, all the while frustrated that he never took the breath to speak to adults much anymore.

He took pleasure in the faint flinch, the spark of something spooked when his eyes levelled up to look into hers, silver darker with the anger, with the promise that he would not forget this.

Then without words, he left to his room.

_To be continued…_

 

Note: To clear something up, in case it was too implicit, Allen does indeed have troubles forming memories. Fun fact: it is not caused by being host to Nea's memories. It is also caused by his body and mind not being, ah, settled. But I am sure you can now take a guess at the next most probably option~  
And yes, because he isn't able to form memories (but retains feelings), he already is “forgetting” his first five years. He knows he had his nanny, but as shown during the chapter, he isn't sure anymore how genuine she was. As a reader, from the prologue, we know she was. But Allen himself doesn't know anymore if his sense of feelings was fooled or not.  
He'll retain the knowledge someone did take care of him for five years, but the lack of memories and the uncertainty of intentions will leave him to never know if he was truly wanted or not; as I had no wish to “remove” that part of him. Though, I've been told it's just as bad, so.  
And of course, that also explains why he forgets his own name. Or how he doesn't recall it, to be exact.  
To finish this note: I will make it clear when Allen's memories fully forms. Most likely, it will be a process though, so you will first seem him thinking of how he recalls some things, and eventually you will have a small hint his memoy is fully functional (likely a clear line indicating he knows he remembers things).

Note: ~~So many note pfff~~ yes, yes, CC and Nea are more or less present, but to be honest? They are dormant, and kind of, sleep-react to Allen. More or less. They eventually grow fully dormant (when Allen himself grows to fully form memories, aka, body and mind settle).  
Allen's state until he “settles” is also the reason he senses feelings, so while I might write him as able to guess how people feel, I don't think it is a skill he will truly keep. Or maybe it just, tones down. I'll see how the story progress, but it is likely he's not going to keep this deep sense of people feelings (as it is a defense mechanism to counter his lack of memories).  
However, this skill of feelings will very likely turn into instincts. So while he's not going to “feel” people feelings, he is going to develop good instincts.


	4. Lone boy

Hello!

Here we have, finally, an update to Allen's life story~ I might have gotten a little distracted between my original works and then Assassin's Light, but in the end writing for Assassin's Light has gotten me back on track. Rise of the Walker is one of the three stories I consider my main focus (alongside Assassin's Light and Meet me Halfway to the End), and I have set up Wednesday as an update day, though I make no promise to update Rise of the Walker every week. Knowing myself, you can also expect updates can come anywhere from late Tuesday to early Thursday.

Also! On my AO3, I have posted Dear Guide Man which is a collection of infos and headcanons. They mentions details I have only hinted on here, but there is no real spoilers in them!  
The parts you can find in this Guide are: Allen's life (so basically a summary of points that Rise of the Walker will show; so do avoid this part if you want to keep a full surprise!), headcanons for Allen (including relationship with Cross, Crown Clown, and Nea), infos of my main canonverse and infos on how I write Mana!

Warning: in this chapter, we have shows of abuse, in ways that aren't outright violence nor verbal; but there are mentions of not giving food, shunning, strictness directed at Allen, and Allen's own thoughts who knows he's just being tolerated, barely (even if it isn't stated, it is implicit he knows). There is one slap however, and pulling him by his arm. It is left unsaid whether or not the adults have been more violent with him, and if they verbally abused in some ways or not. And Allen still has his capability to sense feelings, which are not gentle.

However, I would say that between last chapter and this one, we can see how Allen started to form his little spitfire personality. Something I want to say is: yes, there is a little bit of Nea's influence in liking the wind and to be up in the trees, but these are both things that also applies to Allen.

In short: Allen is a little loner and quiet, he prefers being up in the trees and listen to the wind as well as nature; and a big part of not talking that much is because he knows it frustrates others. In fact, you will see, he loves to do what frustrates others, if they bother him. But, the way I view it, he has been more or less in a good situation until now, so he doesn't risk being rude or outright cause troubles. But he's a clever little sneak about not being all meek as they wished he was.

I hope you will enjoy!  
Don't forget I have a tumblr for my fanfics, at chrisemrysfics dot tumblr dot com; and if you are interested, I have a website for my original works, at chriscassar dot carrd dot com!

* * *

 

**Rise of the Walker**

_ Chapter 3: Lone boy _

Hand pressed on the glass, silver eyes watched the snow fall. The coldness under his palm did not bother him, too focused to mind. He wanted to go out, touch the white, and most of all, he wondered how it would look from up there in the trees.

But the adults had told them it was too cold to be out. That, he could believe, considering how the window felt under his hand. Still… It would be okay, if he was quick, right? If he waited a time there would not be a risk they would look for him, and of course he would be careful.

Lips lifted into a small smile. Yes, that would be the perfect plan!

He should have known it would not be so easy.

Oh, when it came to going out without being seen, it had been no trouble. He had spent a minute looking at the tree he wanted to climb, assessing; and while he had been more careful than usual, he had found a decent spot.

It was when the sight caught his breath, mesmerized him, that it went wrong. Simply because he did not want to go down anymore.

The small wind was chilly, but he had dressed well; and the music of it was so soft. The world felt almost silent, the snow had a gentle sound, or almost-sound. Setting himself more comfortably, he watched around, then closed his eyes, lulled by the silent music, warm inside.

He did not know how long he stayed up there, but he was brutally brought back by the angry shout. He flinched, startled straighter, and barely stopped himself from tilting to the side. Another shout had come, as angry as it had been panicked; and now the voice was angry again, demanding.

He gazed down, blinking, and for a moment he felt tempted to stay up there. It was not as if she could climb up, after all. None of them could climb as well as he did. The problem was that it was dinnertime; and that was likely the reason his absence had been noticed.

So he climbed down, slow to avoid falling, and maybe a little bit to annoy the woman. She was one of the adults that would make him stay in his room often, for no other reason that she did not want to have to watch out for his climbing tendencies.

She was yelling at him, but he did not really listen. However, his senses froze when a sharp pain hit his cheek.

It took him a few beats to realize he had been slapped. Slowly, he turned his head, to look up at her, eyes a little wide, right hand lifting to touch his cheek. He felt no regret from her, only her annoyance and anger.

She grabbed his arm, dragging him inside. It took him only a few turns to realize she was getting him to his room. That she meant to not give him dinner.

He stopped himself, pulled, but she had grabbed his left arm, she knew he could not move it past his elbow. He could not stop her as well as he could have with his right arm; and she simply pulled harder, sending him to his knees.

She stopped when he fell, at least. But the look she sent down his way was disdainful.

“Get up.” She commanded.

He felt a little frightened, and a lot angry. He stood up, but the gaze he sent her way was dark, full of reproach, and just on the edge of furious. She flinched, but she also scowled, pulling his arm once then walking again, almost too fast.

He did not give her the privilege to hear his voice, said nothing, but his gaze stayed fixed on her back, sensing her discomfort.

He was almost thrown in his room; and he heard his door being slammed close. He turned, moving to the handle, and heard just then the key, the lock. He tried the handle, frowned, then knocked harshly on the door once.

“No. You will stay here and think of about what you did.” She replied through the door, all satisfied. Then he heard her steps, she was leaving, just like that.

He heard, if faintly, how she muttered to herself, “What a troublesome child. I'm worried he really is possessed...”

He did not understand the word, the meaning. He understood the way his body seem to grow cold.

_Be careful,_ his mind seemed to say _. Don't let them think like this._

Maybe he should try to antagonize them less?

He snorted. As if. They were the one who treated him bad. Maybe he would be more careful of what he did, but he was not going to get all nice and convenient as they wanted him to be. Because he knew.

Nothing would ever be convenient enough. Not unless he stayed all the time in his room. And he would not be caged like an animal.

* * *

 

Contrary to what the adults seemed to think, he did not want to freeze out there. Sure, he liked the view when he was high up, but he was not silly, thank you very much. If he was cold, he stayed inside. This proved to be a great game, soon.

There was nothing he loved more than knowing the adults spent their day figuring out where he was this time; and since he was still inside, they could not scold him. Or so was the plan, but they always seemed to find something to say.

One time it was because he was sitting on a higher window. Another it was because he was drawing on the window thanks to his breath and the cold. When he realized they knew to look for him at windows, he changed places for a bit. It seemed like they didn't appreciate him suddenly liking the attic. Maybe they should tidy it better then, so they could see him when he was there.

When the snow stopped coming and the trees grew greener again, the adults seemed almost happy to allow the children to go out more often. They still watched him, told him not to climb trees; but they would let him go out.

He was easier to handle when he was outside, after all. Pretend not to notice him climb at times, let him wander from one tree to another, since he also liked to simply sit at their base; and all would be fine.

Well, he had to be careful which adults was around, not all would pretend not to notice him climb, no matter if all of them knew he was good at it. Some used that knowledge to not watch over him as much, and he would reward them by not staying too long up. Some minutes of freedom for both sides.

Not everyone would be like that. It was a pain at first, navigating who would not look his way long enough for a bit of time in trees, but now he had gotten the hang of it.

What bothered him, however, were the other children. They had known to stay clear of him, because the adults were always after him, and he wouldn't seek the other children's company. They did not seek him out either, although some tried at times, when he sat under trees.

But he liked the sounds of the wind, the animals in the trees, of life around; and other kids were too loud. He also knew they were often curiously looking toward his arm.

It had to happen, one day.

One insisted. Started to get annoyed. He tried, for once, to speak, to explain, “I just want to stay here,” but all the other kid seemed to take notice was that he had talked.

“Don't be shy, come on!”

No, he was not being shy, his voice had been soft because he had wanted to continue listening to the birds. A quick glance, good it was one of the adults pretending not to look; so he stood up, meaning to climb. At least, there, the kids wouldn't follow, and he would be able to see better.

Poor birds had been a bit spooked, they had moved further away, but he could still hear them faintly.

However, the other kid seemed to first think he was coming, but the expression turned sour when they realized he meant to climb. He sensed the spark of anger, so he turned a bit to gaze behind him, but he did not expect the grab at his arm.

His left arm.

He tensed, turning fully to face the other kid, moving back. They did not let go, and too late he realized his mistake. The bandages shifted, slipped a bit, and some of the red skin was exposed. He froze, the other kid froze, and then he was bringing his arm against his chest, covering the exposed skin with his other hand.

The kid let out a startled sound, backing away with eyes wide in fear. “W-What? Y-Your arm-”

He felt his heart thump harder, his back pressed against the tree, sensing the twist of disgust in the fear. Then there was an adult there, the one who had been pretending not to watch so he could climb up, standing between him and the other kid.

“It's okay, Alex. You should all go play.”

The children hesitated, looking up at the woman, then at the glimpse of the red haired boy she was hiding. Then they left, and she sighed. She turned, looking down at the child; he looked up at her, still pressed against the tree, still with widened eyes, frightened.

Her gaze dropped to his arm, and he felt her flash of wariness, saw the flinch she barely hid. He curled on himself, eyes dropping down, starting to wrap the bandages back with a shaky hand. He felt startlement, then she was kneeling in front of him, gentle hands helping him.

He swallowed, eyes burning a bit. He felt it, how she viewed him as a child, but how she also viewed him as someone to be wary off. She had a soft heart toward children, yet there was resentment too, waiting to strike for when he wouldn't look like a child anymore.

Was it why he was living there still? What would happen, when he would grow?

What would happen, when they would act upon this feeling he felt, whenever they glanced at his arm, knowing what was under the bandages?

How could he tell them it was not something to be afraid of?

He said nothing but a quiet thank you when she had finished, and without being prompted, he hurried back inside, back into his room.

He was allowed to eat in it, and for days, he would barely go outside. He would wander the orphanage when most of the kids were out, and would eat in the dinning room, in a corner.

None of the kids tried to approach anymore. None of the adults tried to get him to go outside more.

The wariness, the fear, the disgust; he got used to them.

The pity made him feel anger. The associated sensations frightened him.

_My arm is not a danger!_

_To be continued..._


	5. Run, child

Hello~

Here is a new chapter, which has been worked on in regards to WIP Week, a week dedicated to working on your WIPs!

First a little note: you might see again how Allen seems to not want to have his voice heard to those that hurt him; and all I'll say to hint at why is that his voice, before, has been loved. It's a bit of this before that is there when Allen feels a “punishment” is to not have his voice heard. It won't play a part in this story, this fact; I just thought I'd share!

Also: sorry for so many feels in this chapter. I realized writing this that, well, Allen's birthday has been twice set on an adoption day, and twice it reminds him of someone he lost. You'll see what I mean. And then, well.

Let's just say this chapter features how Allen ends up in the street, in which the main warning for this is attempted violence (another is mention of neglect). There is nothing graphic, almost nothing actually done, but the suggestion of what has been attempted is sure going to give you chills. The reason too is supposed to be really twisted, more scary than outright hate if I say so. And the worst part is that the event you will see is Allen's first solid memory.

He is still going to have trouble properly forming memories from now on, but his memory will work a bit better, and while he will bury the event as deep as possible, the memory of it exist and is vivid.

Note that there will be an Interlude chapter I had written long ago, knowing about what would happen in this chapter, that I will post in the next few days, likely on Wednesday. It will feature a special someone, and will give light to some mystery!

For now: enjoy the feels and hurt/angst!

* * *

 

**Rise of the Walker**

_ Chapter 4: Run, child _

Time had become a strange thing to him, some days felt so long, and some just went by before he noticed. All he knew for certain was which days were for him to seek a lone place, and which days he could wander around.

The adults were not bothering him anymore, but here laid the problem, he felt: they were not really bothering him anymore. After all, the other kids wanted nothing to do with him, the red haired child with a red arm. No one bothered to give him bandages anymore, what use would they have, when all knew what was under?

Of course, it meant that at all moments, all those that laid eyes on him would see the limb. Somewhere deep within, the looks, the feelings, they still hurt, no matter how many times he received them. But the same way he had refused to give them his voice, he refused to give them his feelings.

He still found a little enjoyment from how awkward the adults felt, when he seemed to not be bothered when they forgot to call him for meals. They could never meet his eyes, when he looked at them, sensed how fake their apologies were.

Winter came again, the snow a reminder of how long it had been since the last time he saw it. The adults celebrated the day a kid had arrived, sometimes the luckiest knew their actual birth date. They had celebrated last winter, but back then, he had not like the feelings around him, and had quietly asked that they did not celebrate this day.

He did not recall his nanny. He just knew he had lost her on the day he had been sent here.

It was a blessing, he guessed, that they listened to him. He did not wish to know how it would have been, to be forced to be around adults and children alike, with how they had been feeling toward him. For a moment, he had feared this would be the reason they would celebrate it, pretend they forgot or thought it would help.

But he guessed it was too much of a bother, and for once he was glad they were not this petty.

The strangest thing was the older kids. There were not yet teens, still children, but they were getting there. They had a light in their eyes that was a little more clever than younger kids, there was a way in how they looked at the adults, at him, that he could not decide whether it made him uneasy, or a little hopeful.

All he knew was that they were not distant, on the contrary, their feelings almost pushed toward him in their curiosity. However, there was something… angry, frightened, dangerous in them too.

He could not feel for who it was. So he kept his distance, pretended he didn't notice, but instincts sharp.

Snow had melted and trees were growing green again when he finally realized what he had been feeling was.

He was the victim to save, and his arm the culprit to punish.

And after this day, he would forever prefer to have the hate rather than _**this**_.

* * *

He had been enjoying the breeze outside, in the shade of a tree that had tiny leaves growing, when he felt a sense of unease, one that was his own, and heard the steps before he looked. It was the group of the kids a little bit older than him, smiling at him, somewhere between shy and bright.

A shudder went down his spine, something screaming in him, and his gaze dropped without control. He saw a hand closed around something, a particular ray of sun making the item give a glint, and he gasped as he recognized a lighter.

His gaze lifted, eyes a little wider, and when he saw the startled look of the boy, felt the grim from the group of boys, he knew.

He turned, bolted away. He barely ran a few meters than he was tackled, letting out a yelp.

The slightly taller body on his stayed sitting on his lower back, one hand coming on his mouth, more hands pinning down his legs and arms. He tried to struggle, whimpering to show he did not want their sad pity, growled when he heard the soft whisper of, “It's okay, we'll help you be free of this and you'll be a normal kid like us!”

He froze stiff when the lighter went off, approaching his left arm, which had been pinned extended forward.

He was shaking badly, whimpering again, the hand petting his hairs not helping at all. He felt sick as he heard, “Sorry, so sorry, but you know it too right? Fire the best against evil.”

The flame touched his arm. He held his breath, tears falling down his cheek. And he let out his breath, making a shaky sound, as against all odds, he felt… nothing? No, he felt the warmth of the flame, somewhere in him he knew it should burn, but it… did not.

The arm was not burning, either. Only his clothes, and then, the flame flickered smaller, as if it had nothing to catch on.

The older kids exchanged frightened, confused looks. “What do we do? The devil there isn't letting us help him!”

Someone left, he tried to struggle again but it was no use, he felt as frightened as he was getting desperately angry, how could they think this was anywhere good?

A gasp was heard, he managed to glance, the boy had widened his eyes, letting out a mutter of, “You sure?”

The grip on him a little more lax, not enough to get them off, but enough to twist to the right. His blood went cold at the sight, barely hearing the small, shamed, “I think it's the only way.”

All he could see was the axe in the boy's hand.

Time seemed to slow. His heartbeat echoed in his ears. His sight focused on the axe.

A hand kept his head as it was, pinned to the ground by his right cheek, unable to see the axe as the boy moved, but able to feel the way his left arm was extended to the side.

The sound of the axe coming down seemed so loud in his ears.

He saw red.

He heard screaming.

It was not his own voice.

He did not feel pain..?

The world came back into focus, a blurry haze that cleared after a few blinks.

He was standing..?

His ears registered the crying of boys, his silver eyes moved, and at first he could not comprehend the sight.

They were all on the ground, shaking, frightened, crying and sobbing, calling for help. The one who had been on his back and the one who had the axe…

Their shirt was torn, slashed, faint claw mark on their chest.

The axe laid, broken in little pieces, in the grass.

He looked down at himself. No wound. His arm hang limply, fingers twitching once before stilling. The skin of his right arm looked grey for a moment, but was normal in the next moment.

There were more yells, adults now, fear and horror high in the air. He looked up.

There were adults running to them. They had brooms. They had pitchforks.

“Demon! He's really a demon child!”

_Run, please, **run**._

And he ran. He ran and ran without stopping, through streets, as long as his body could take it, as far as possible. He ran until he did not have the breath for it anymore, then he walked, until he got himself in a small alley, hiding beside trash.

There he sat, back against the wall, arms around his bent knees, body shaking, staring forward with silent tears.

He could not stay in this town. He did not want them to find him. He could not go back.

His stomach growled. His last meal had been a small breakfast, the adults had not really looked for him at lunch.

He needed food. He needed to move as soon as possible.

His gaze dropped. He took into his red hand.

_Why? Why was I born like this?_

More tears came, and he dropped his forehead on his knees, hiding his face there as he sobbed.

_Why? Why did you have to be my arm?_

Silence only replied to him, no feeling, no sensation. He was alone.

It was growing dormant, they were both growing dormant, they should not have surfaced, not so soon, but how could they not?

_Precious little host, I am so sorry, I will wait for the day I can be by your side. **My dear Allen, may you survive** **until we meet again**._

_To be continued..._


	6. Mana's Interlude: Mindbreak

Hello~

I mentioned and promised a bonus chapter with a special character, and as you might have noticed from the chapter title, welcome to this interlude featuring Mana~!

The timing of posting this chapter was always one I wanted, so even without WIP Week I would have posted this Interlude. But hey, WIP Week made a second reason! This has also been writing weeks ago, since it based itself on background details I know, and the event that made Allen run away, that I also knew.

This Interlude also lifts a few mystery the prologue had put in place, and like the prologue, most of this still tend to work no matter the canonverse worldbuilding I do; but fits best my main canon au, which is the same as Meet me Halfway to the End.

Don't worry, however, everything you will discover in this chapter is still far from spoiling the plot of Meet me Halfway, or spoil anything major for the overall canon au. It only reveals one, two major detail (but not spoilery so to speak, that is to say, details you can totally get to know); and shows headcanons. It also introduce someone special, which Allen is going to meet soon enough in Meet me Halfway to the End~

Warning, more feels! Also: implicit possible character deaths. There's at least one person that has likely died (don't piss off Mana, my dears), and then everyone else is left open to interpretation, whether they could get out or not.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

**Rise of the Walker**

_ Mana's Interlude: Mindbreak _

Golden eyes snapped open wide as his chest heaved. He stared at the ceiling, trying to calm the panic in his guts, the tightness of his throat, barely feeling the lone tears that fell, one from each eye.

Where was he?

He moved to a sitting position, expression shifting to confusion as he took his surroundings. The room had changed, but he finally recognized the one within the Ark.

The Ark… The room of the First…

His breath caught in his throat, and he moved before he knew it, scrambling off the bed, stumbling lightly before he walked to the bathroom. A middle aged man's face looked back at him, but Mana knew.

He remembered. He fell on his knees, crying, sobbing. “Nea, Nea, Nea...”

It was too much, he needed to calm down, he felt himself slowly falling into darkness again. But how, how could he…

Another face flashed into his mind, and all of the sudden, it felt as if his mind grew blank, frozen.

“Allen...” Their precious friend… Looking… What had become of Allen?

Guilt hit Mana, but it was mixed with determination. He had to find Allen. If everything else was too much, then he would make this one goal his own.

And so, Mana stood up, went to dress himself. He was Mana… He was looking for Allen… He should start by… by…

Who was the last person who saw him?

Joyd… Joyd saw him last.

* * *

 

Mana found Joyd. But Joyd was dormant. Mana did not stay long, not when the sight of Joyd's new host almost send his mind crumbling. He had forgotten, he had remembered abruptly, that Joyd and himself both had last seen Allen. He had remembered why, and when his eyes started to see blood on himself, he forced himself to only think of his goal again.

Allen. Find Allen.

Who else..?

Mana wandered, pulled, unseeing until he blinked at the familiar mansion, heart aching. He stood there, staring, crying, until a familiar woman approached him, calling his name in disbelief. Even with his new face, she had recognized him.

But it did not surprise Mana. She had always been there, young when she first became a maid, soon after the head maid.

She had been the one to find _**him**_ , like Katerina had find Mana and Nea.

Her name left his lips, and then, the name of her son, face twisting in a lost look, in yearning.

She placed a gentle hand on his cheek, searching his gaze, and then she nodded. She made a move to lead him in, but he shook his head, almost frightened. She smiled sadly.

“Wait here.” She said.

She did not take long returning inside the mansion and coming back, yet still, Mana was hugging himself, whispering to himself Allen's name.

He stopped as she placed a hand on his cheek, then blinked at the letter she handed him. It was addressed to his uncle, Cyrus Campbell.

He took it, and when he opened it, he took in a sharp breath at the words.

Words of an orphanage the head of the Campbell family had funded, as he wished to be informed of new arrivals.

Words that a child there had been taken in after his previous caretaker had passed away.

Mana read again the name of this caretaker. He stared at the name of the child.

He looked back at her, at Allen's mother. She smiled sadly.

“I found the letter. Sir Campbell must have thought it might be dangerous for me to know. But I found it, and now you found me.” Her smile fell slightly, expression concerned. “I cannot protect him, if I took him back, if anyone realized who he was.” Her eyes seemed to search Mana's again.

Mana straightened, the determination filling his gaze again. “One way or another, I will secure him.” He promised in a soft tone. “Even if I have to forget all that would endanger him.”

But he needed to find him first. He needed to remember enough until Allen was in his arms.

* * *

 

Mana sat in the chair, face blank, unwilling to process the words. Yet, as much as he did not want to, as much as he wanted to have misunderstood, the truth still branded in his mind.

_I am sorry, sir, but… The child you are looking for, Allen, has left._

“Left?” Mana finally repeated, too blank.

The woman nodded, sighing. “A few days ago, he ran away. He has not come back, and hasn't been seen anywhere close by. He must have left town.”

Mana's hand curled around the armrest, gripping tight. His eyes narrowed. Too calm she was, guilt hidden…

“When exactly did he leave?”

The woman blinked, but gave him the day. The armrest started to crack under the strength of his grip.

The same day. Allen ran away on the same day Mana woke, overpowering Adam for the first time since Nea's death.

“Why did he leave?”

The woman flinched at the growl in his question, the snarl showing on his face. She leant back in her chair, hesitating, gathering some form of self righteousness.

“I don't know, sir-”

“Don't lie to me!” Mana roared, standing up abruptly, chair falling in a clatter. “You couldn't look more guilty if you tried!”

The woman blanched, eyes wide. Mana tried not to let it satisfy his Noah side too much.

“S-Sir, calm down-”

“Tell me.” Mana cut, voice low and commanding. The voice of the First Apostle.

And before her mind caught up, her mouth gave the truth.

“A demon child! I had wanted to believe he was only suffering a deformity, but he proved himself to be one! He attacked other children!”

Mana knew the moment his eyes turned from the more normal golden-brown to bright gold. She gasped, standing up, but he moved, his hand found her throat.

“He would _never_ attack without cause. Now tell me, woman… Why did he attack?”

She trembled, and yet again, the truth spilled for her.

“They tried to burn and cut his demonic arm.”

Mana yelled in anger.

And half an hour later, Mana watched as a fire burned down the orphanage to ashes, gaze void of emotions.

Tears started to fall from his eyes as he whispered Allen's name once, then again, voice breaking.

He turned, walking away. He brushed his tears off, going forward without aim.

It hurt… So close he had been… But now… Where could he even go?

Lost, pained, and with lingering anger, with a lingering sense of his Noah bothered by the intense emotions, Mana's mind broke.

When he left town, Mana smiled.

When he arrived at the next one, he introduced him as Mana Walker, the travelling clown. Walker, like the orphanage, like Allen's mother, like Allen himself back then.

A name to brand into his heart even as his mind forgot.

Forgetting all that would endanger Allen. Forgetting himself.

Only remembering that he had to keep walking.

Yet, his heart never forget, his soul still yearning, guiding his steps, whispering a name for a dog, like a memento he was not aware of yet.

Until he entered a circus.

Until, without knowing it yet, his search came to an end.

_To be continued..._


End file.
